Fairy Wings of Spring
by Amidst Hobbits
Summary: This is a story about Frodo's adoption by Bilbo Baggins that I began in 2007. It is accidentally a bit alternate universe since, when I began it, I miscalculated the age at which Frodo's adoption occurred. I have never been good at math; however, I have tried to follow canon otherwise. Thus, Frodo is presented as a 12 year old, rather than 21, after his arrival at Bag End.
1. Chapter 1 - Stranger in Town

The gently rolling hills of the Shire were a-blossom with the delicate flowers of spring. A cool breeze carried a hint of apple that was almost tantalizing. As each flower bud opened, one could almost see the semblance of fairies peering out from within. Even the meandering brook testified to the presence of Springtide.

Covered in the prettiest flowers in the entire Shire was Bag-End. Its shuttered windows still held a hint of the morning dew. One of the Shire's "most interesting " (which some used to imply _notorious_) of hobbits was inside, busily preparing dandelion vinaigrette for the morning's elevensies' salad. As a soft rapping resounded against the wooden door, Bilbo Baggins hurriedly wiped his yellowed fingers against his apron and then opened the door. A rather _unwanted _sight stood just outside it.

"Oh, gracious, Bilbo," began a rather pugnacious Lobelia, "your fingers are as yellow as a bee! I always knew you were up to _something_". Lobelia added a proficient smirk for emphasis.

"Now, Lobelia, before you have time to make any further fuss about how I choose to use my spare time or manage the estate…"

"Nonsense, Bilbo. I only came down here to see how the boy was getting along. Due to my good judgment, I am purposefully leaving my thoughts on how you are not capable of managing anything, let alone yourself, out of this conversation. Now, if you would be the cordial host you ought, **_do let me in!_**"

Bilbo opened the door wide enough for Lobelia to force herself in and then proceed to the sitting room. She nonchalantly ran her finger upon the mantel before taking a seat near the hearth. As she did, Bilbo begrudgingly went to the cellar to pick a bottle of wine that he wouldn't mind serving to "that confounded relative" of his.

During Bilbo's absence from the room, Lobelia took the liberty to inspect a few of Bilbo's belongings. A few well-worn parchments had been meticulously filed upon the desk. In another part of the room, she found a book lying open that appeared to have been recently written in.

_Astron, 4__th__ 1380 SR_

_~ Yesterday was a rather uneventful boy did nothing but stay in his room moping so I went for a walk. I spotted several of the more rare birds such as the jade-bellied bluebird and a wren. The flowers seem to be blossoming quite nicely..._

The sound of Bilbo's footstep in the hallway nearly caused Lobelia to jump. With the swiftness that only a snoop has learned to achieve, she returned to her seat and feigned innocence as he returned to the room with a bottle of wine and some cakes.

"I hope you don't mind seedcakes, Lobelia."

"No, that will do quite nicely, thank you. Now, as I was saying, that boy of yours has got to learn to be social. In the entirety of the two months he has been here, neither I, nor the rest of the family, have seen him once. I just thought I'd warn you, Bilbo, keep an eye on that boy - he's part _Brandybuck_!"

"Now, Lobelia…"

"Don't interrupt! As I was saying, one can never trust a Brandybuck. He is bound to have at least some measure of trickery up his sleeve or I'm a black-tailed weasel!"

Bilbo stifled the temptation to point out that maybe she wasn't that far from the truth. He had always thought her temperament somewhat resembled a varmint.

"Well, at any rate, I do hope that you take me advice to mind. I must be off now; Lotho is bound to be getting lonely. At least he is of _respectable_ lineage." The caustic remark played upon Lobelia's rounded lips. "Good day, Bilbo". And with that, she helped herself out of the hole, leaving Bilbo once again alone with his apron and yellow fingers.

"That good for nothing woman didn't even take the time to drink the wine I so generously poured!" Bilbo muttered to himself before returning to the kitchen.

* * *

In the other end of the hole, sitting all by himself, gazing solemnly out of his window, was "the boy" Frodo.

The sun peaked through the open window, catching on a corner of the glass, and danced in rainbows on the opposite wall. Frodo had spent most of the last two months inside peering out of that very window.

The sudden death of his parents had left a lot on his mind and a wound in his heart. The little comfort he could find was sitting on the window seat and looking towards Buckland in hopes that if he looked hard enough, the pains of the past would simply vanish.

Many a tear had been shed in that room, unnoticed by the rest of society. But then, when did they ever detect the presence of the orphaned. They were always to busy noticing their perfect little lives, their perfect families.

Frodo sighed before closing the window. The darkness returned to the room and the rainbows disappeared.

It was then that his nose became attuned to the wafting of baking bread that was flooding the hole. His stomach grumbled, reminding him how many hours it had been since he last ate.

Despite Bilbo's attempts to get him to come out of the room, he had refused and had been taking all of his meals in his room. This one would be no different, he thought.

It wasn't long before Bilbo knocked on his door and asked him to come to the kitchen for elevensies. Even though he had sworn to never leave the room, he found his feet involuntarily moving towards the door and the smell of the food. Bilbo raised an eyebrow in surprise as Frodo sat down in the kitchen.

"I thought you said you were never going to come out". Bilbo said with a chuckle.

"I…uh…the room was getting stuffy…I thought that I had better make sure you weren't burning the bread."

"Oh, so you don't trust my cooking, is that it?" Bilbo winked.

"Something like that." Frodo grumbled in response.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to come out at any rate. Here, best try the bread for yourself. Make sure it isn't _too_ brown." Bilbo chuckled and winked again. "Perhaps it's time that you explored Hobbiton. You never know, you might just learn to like it."

When he had finished eating, Frodo decided to follow Bilbo's advice and ventured outside. The flowers were even more beautiful than they had appeared to be when he saw them from his window. As he walked by a couple of the nearby holes, he let his eyes fall as a few of the neighboring hobbits watched him from the corner of their eyes. They had a unique way of making him feel unwelcome.

Further down the lane was an orchard. The trees were covered with yellow flowers and ripe fruit. At the base of one of the trees, the moist ground had made the perfect environment for mushrooms, which had just began to peak out from beneath the soil. Frodo couldn't hide the natural smile of delight that crept across his face. Nimbly, in order to keep them in the best possible condition, he pulled them out of the ground and placed them in his jacket pocket. He decided they would make the perfect midnight snack. As he did, he hummed a little hobbit tune he had heard long ago, sang to him by his mother.

Memories flooded back to him as he walked. His parents, Drogo and Primula, had been a lovely couple, well loved by many a hobbit. They were the sorts of people that left smiles on your faces. Shortly after their marriage, Drogo, a goodhobbit from the respectable Baggins family, relocated to Buckland to live with his sweetheart in the presence of her many relations. There, the couple also had their only child, Frodo. Many a tear was shed that unfortunate day - they were together to the end. Tears trickled down Frodo's cheeks as her remembered the horrible day that his cousins told him about his parents boating accident. Some of the relations, mostly of the Sackville variety, who always resented Drogo's desire to marry an "unruly Brandy," even had the gall to suggest that his mother was responsible for their death, pulling her husband into the water and drowning them both.

The kindness of Bilbo, who was actually more accurately the boys cousin than his uncle, was met with many a raised eyebrow. Seemingly out of nowhere, a letter arrived requesting that the boy, who had been shuffled from relation to relation for months, come and live with him and be his heir. The look on Lobelia's face when she found out could have curdled an entire river of milk. But, the head of the Baggins estate had spoken - and their was no persuading "Mad Baggins" into changing his mind, no matter how many hate letters she sent. And so, here was the controversial orphan, walking through Hobbiton, feeling like almost feeling like a pawn midst a game of Chess that Lobelia and Bilbo played.


	2. Chapter 2 - Hide and Seek

Lobelia arrived home in a foul mood. Otho greeted her at the door and then retreated to the kitchen to avoid her complaints.

"Otho! That relative of yours is as cracked as ever. It still surprises me that he ever survived "fighting dragons." If it wasn't for all the gold he had stashed away in that hole, I wouldn't waste the time being as courteous to him as I always am."

A stifled "yes dear" could be heard from the kitchen. Otho was the sort that felt obligated to please his wife, or, to at least make her think that he was. Usually, his inputs to the conversation were of the memorized sort used to ensure the other person that the proper amounts of attention was being paid to them.

"I was thinking," Lobelia continued, "that perhaps we should invite that little rat of an orphan over to play with Lotho. Perhaps our son could at least teach him how to be civilized and take the Brandybuck out of him. It just seems like the charitable thing to do. Besides, if the little brat goes home after being thoroughly impressed by a true Hobbiton family, he might become easily coerced into telling us where to find some dragon's gold."

"Yes, dear." Otho replied. "Some dragon finery might look nice decorating our humble little home."

* * *

While Frodo stood in the grass, taking in the smell of wildflowers, a little hobbit girl, unbeknownst to him, snuck up behind him and…

"Boo!" screamed Daisy Gamgee at the top of her lungs. Frodo froze up and ceased to move before turning around to face his attacker. Though she was met with a cold stare, Daisy gave a victorious grin. "Good day! I do believe we are, as of yet, unacquainted. My name is Daisy Gamgee." Remembering her manners, she quickly offered him her hand for shaking.

"I… uh… My name is Frodo." He replied while failing to notice she wished to shake his hand.

"Well, fine then, forget your manners. At any rate, you must be new in town. I have decided to show you around."

"I'm fine - _really_. No need to waste your time on me… Daisy."

"But I insist. Come on." Daisy grabbed Frodo's hand, practically dragging him from the patch of grass that he had been standing on.

Frodo, almost running in an attempt to catch up with Daisy, tried to talk some reason into her about why it was quite unnecessary for her to give him the tour of the town. She chose to ignore him and continued to give him "the tour".

Daisy would occasionally comment about the places they passed. After awhile, she led Frodo to one of the humbler looking holes located along the Old Row. Several young hobbits were at play in the front lawn. Dirt that testified to a childhood imagination was smudged on their faces but not enough so to hide their mirthful smiles.

As Daisy opened the front gate, one of the little girls joyfully ran to meet her.

"Daisy! Daisy! Yook! We buildin' a dirwt-castle!" The little hobbit girl then threw herself into Daisy's arms while Daisy struggled to make it through the gate.

"This is my little sister May and her friends. It appears that they are attempting to dig all the way to Great Smials." The little hobbit children giggled at the idea.

Frodo, who was still uncomfortable around girls of any age, managed to lift his eyes and garner enough words to say hello.

"May, this is Frodo. I'm showing him around the town. He is new here."

"Oh. I four years old, Fwodo!" May held up eight fingers to illustrate her point. "Mommy making cookies in the kishin, Daisy!"

"Ooh! Sounds good. I'll show you to the kitchen, Frodo." Daisy the "tour guide" led Frodo and the troop of little hobbit children to the kitchen. . Next to the stove, busily stirring a pot was Mrs. Gamgee. She had a baby on one hip and her curly hair tied up in a bun.

The cookies lay on the counter, cut into perfect circles and drizzled with caramel.

"I see that you have perfect timing, Daisy. I took them out not to long ago. They should be cooled off enough to eat by now". Daisy, Frodo, and the other children helped themselves to the cookies, which smoothly melted in their mouths.

"You must be the new boy in town. Frodo is it? Bilbo came around a couple of days ago and told me that you had come to stay with him. So, how are you liking Hobbiton so far?" Asked Mrs. Gamgee. She readjusted her hold on the baby.

Frodo, who had always thought it wise to use the best of manners when speaking to adults, responded. "Yes, Ma'am. It is very nice."

"You don't speak much do yah? Well, you'll probably find your vocal box once you become more familiar with your surroundings." At this time, the baby began to cry and was passed on to Daisy to care for. Daisy cradled it and walked over to Frodo.

"This is my baby brother," she said, " his name is Samwise. Would you like to hold him?" Frodo nodded his head _no;_ Daisy didn't seem to notice and gave him the baby all the same. Upon receiving the baby, his arms froze up and his heart quickened its pace. He was so nervous holding such a vulnerable life in his arms.

"Uhhh…per…perhaps you should take the baby back now…"

Daisy giggled and then scooped the baby back into her arms. "Silly boy, its just a baby. It's not going to eat you." Frodo's face flushed.

May batted her pixie eyelashes and proclaimed in a juvenile's sing-song voice, "Fwodo, have another COOKIE!" She then grinned and handed him one. "Yah know, I fink dhat _cookies _are the most nutwishes ding in duh whole, wide woirld." May grabbed another cookie and stuck the whole thing in her mouth.

Daisy grinned and asked her sister, "Are you saying that they are more nutritious than vegetables?" She looked shocked.

"_Of cwourse! _Besides, vegetables are yucky."

Daisy made eye contact with Frodo and mouthed the words "she is a silly girl". Frodo grinned.

* * *

Frodo, Daisy, and the troop of hobbit children finished off the cookies and returned outside after all telling Mrs. Gamgee "thank you" for the cookies. Even though it was quickly getting into the later, darker hours of the day, May and her friends convinced Frodo and Daisy to play a quick game of hide-and-go-seek before Frodo had to go home.

One of May's little friends, Iris, was chosen to be the_ it_. The other young hobbits dispersed and began to look for hiding places.

Frodo, who had never really participated in games, set off cautiously. In the Gamgee's backyard was an overturned wheelbarrow. After turning it over to check for slugs, Frodo put it back to its original position, this time with him inside. The voices of the other hobbit children were muted against the interior of the wheelbarrow.

Frodo listened as one-by-one each of the hobbit children were found by Iris. He could hear their childlike voices silence as in turn they were found and then went inside to get warm. It seemed like hours as he sat in the pitch-black of the wheelbarrow's interior. Finally, those "hours" seemed to feel like minutes once more as he heard the tramping of Iris' feet in the moist grass.

"Frodo," Iris whispered, "you are the last one. When I find you, I win!"

He kept still as she inched closer.

Just then, he heard Iris start whimpering. Just a few steps from the wheelbarrow, a pitchfork lied in the ground. In her attempts to sneak up to the wheelbarrow she had slipped and caught her foot on one of the pitchfork's prongs. Fortunately, it had only caused a slight puncture wound, though the blood trickled from the cut and the tears streamed from her eyes.

Frodo quickly came out from beneath the wheelbarrow to find out what was wrong. Iris stared at him with wells of tears in her eyes. "I think I hurt myself." She said. With utmost care, he picked her up and carried her inside.

Mrs. Gamgee hurried to help Iris. In a matter of minutes, she had patched Iris up and sent May to collect the girl's father. Iris' dad comforted his little daughter and then took her home.

Unanimously, even though Iris hadn't "found" Frodo, the little hobbits decided that she had "won" the game.

Not long after that, the little hobbits said their merry _goodbyes_, returning each to their own holes. The weather outside was cold; Frodo wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck as he slowly ascended the hill leading to Bag-end. The little gate creaked as he opened it. Bilbo must have been asleep Frodo decided, after noticed that all the lights in the hole were out.

Quietly, he shut the door behind him and crept into the cellar to hide his mushrooms in a place that he could find them later. He noticed that the pocket he placed them in earlier that morning had gotten a little damp. He took off his jacket and placed it by the fire in the front room.

After making sure that all of the candles were out and that the door was shut tight enough to prevent too much of a draft from coming in, he went to his room and went to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3 - A Day for Soup

The following morning, Bilbo awoke to the sound of rain. The windows were frosted, as if in testimony to the cold that was trying desperately to permeate the inside of the hole. Such a cold day only meant one thing to Bilbo… Today was a soup day.

After preparing a hearty amount of porridge to last through breakfast and second breakfast, he got to work preparing his soup. He would need a lot of soup. He would need soup enough to feed two hungry hobbits for the rest of the frigid day (which would amount to about five meals).

Out of the cellar he brought various types of roots, vegetables, and grains, many of which he had grown in his own garden. He carefully placed them next to his cutting board and began to slice them into soup worthy portions.

The smell of freshly cut onions wafted through the walls. Frodo, who, like most young hobbits, was acutely perceptive to the smell of food, awoke to find that he was indeed hungry.

After putting on some clean trousers, shirt and vest, he wrapped a scarf around his neck and went to his bedside table to pick up his jacket. Of course it wasn't there due to the fact that he had left it by the fire the night before. After remembering that his jacket was still by the fire he left the room. Frodo sighed, "Perhaps I am starting to like this place after all, just like Uncle Bilbo predicted would happen - at least the food is good".

Bilbo was pleased to see that, for the second day in a row, Frodo had decided to come and join him in the kitchen. "Ah, I suspect that you smell the food. Today is soup day. Feel free to fill yourself up with porridge for now though."

Frodo made his way to the pot of porridge and scooped some up with the ladle. It was still hot and smelled delicious. He let it fall into his bowl and then sat down at the table. Bilbo offered him some tea and then went back to his soup fixings.

After Bilbo had put everything in the pot to simmer, he announced that he had something to show Frodo.

* * *

The fire crackled in the main room. Bilbo smiled an almost boyish smile as he walked towards it. He heartily put another log on it then clapped his hands together and rubbed his hands off on his apron to rid them of the dust. Over the mantelpiece, it sat: his pride and joy. Due to careful polishing, it shimmered like the moon's reflection on a quite lake. With utmost care, Bilbo raised it from its rack and brought it down to eye level. The intricate carvings along its length showed that it had been made by the most masterful of hand s- ones found only far away from the Shire in some legendary place.

"The blade glows blue when orcs are near." He said while running his hand along it.

There must be something that makes even the shyest boy come out of hiding at the sight of weaponry. Bilbo saw the pleading and excitement in Frodo's eyes that could only be described in simple words; "may I hold it?"  
After telling Frodo how important it was to respect the sword because of its dangerous nature and how he should hold it gently - after all, it was a rare make - he handed it over to Frodo. Bilbo sighed, "perhaps you've heard the stories about how I'm '_The Mad Baggins_'. It's not all entirely true, despite the fact that I keep a sword above my fireplace rather than keeping it in the Mathom House. I intend to let you hear my version of the story and allow you to decide for yourself whether or not it is truth."

Frodo held the light sword as if almost afraid that the handle would cut his hands as easily as the blade.

Bilbo continued talking, "I call it "Sting." It has saved me many a time when I was younger from orcs and such."  
"What's an _orc_, Bilbo?"  
"Oh, they are nasty creatures that live underground and fear the light of day. Unfortunately, they have a sweet tooth for hobbit. No, need to worry though, they are not found in the Shire."

Not long after that, Bilbo returned to his soup, which ended up tasting marvelous indeed. During supper, Frodo asked him to tell him the tale of the sword. Bilbo, storyteller that he was, was very pleased to have the opportunity to do so.  
"Well, it was like this my boy, it was splendid weather outside so I decided to sit near the doorstep. By and by, this old chap with a pointy hat came along, his name of course was Gandalf…" It was a tale that Bilbo loved and partly wished to relive again. Even though he loved telling it so much though, he always omitted some of what happened. Of course, Frodo didn't notice and would not discover what was left out until many, many years later.

That night, Frodo went to bed as his head swirled with the story of the sword. He imagined himself brandishing it and watching it glow blue as orcs approached. His uncle's story became a boyhood fantasy that he could play out in his mind to pass a boring day.

A couple of weeks later, Frodo and Bilbo sat in the main room. Bilbo had an impish grin on his face.

"Uncle Bilbo, you are sporting an odd smile, and I aim to find out what it means."

Bilbo chuckled and looked up from his journal in which he had been writing. " I've just been looking over some of my earlier entries from when I spent some time with elves during my travels with the sword. Here's one from when I was studying Elvish. I'm much better than that now."

"It looks so beautiful, Uncle Bilbo. I wish I could write it!"

"Well, my boy, than never fear, Uncle Bilbo is here! Would you like me to teach you to write some Elvish, Frodo? It will take some effort and practice on your part but you are a good learner."

Frodo began to look very excited. "Oh, Uncle, I would love too!" He grinned widely.

* * *

Not long after, Frodo's "introduction to Elvish" work began. Every morning, while Bilbo cooked breakfast, Frodo would work on the writing in Elvish assignment that Bilbo had prepared the night before. As they ate, Bilbo would teach his nephew simple phrases in the language and correct Frodo's assignments. In a few weeks, Bilbo had successfully introduced to other typical subjects as well such as Westron grammar and composition, poetry, some math, and how to manage finances.

"You are doing much better, lad. Someday, you could be a translator for elves. They might come from miles away to speak with the genius hobbit Frodo who could converse with elves so well that they would take you as being one of their own kind. Of course, they would have to pay for your services, sixty percent of which would go to your benefactor Uncle Bilbo." Bilbo chuckled and winked.

Frodo smirked in reply. "That's what you think. Those elves would be coming to hear me speak so why should I share any of the profits with you? I'm just kidding, really. Naturally, I would gladly split the money with you- otherwise I might find myself dangling from a rope in front of your old dragon Smaug, huh?"

Bilbo nodded. "That's right, my boy. Uncle Bilbos can be very dangerous when their young nephews get stingy with the cash. Ha.

"Well, the Browns invited me over for tea so I best be making myself over there. I'll bring you back some crumpets, if they look away from the table long enough for me to stuff some in my pocket. Now, you mind yourself for the next few hours and don't get into any mischief, okay?"

Bilbo left Frodo the keys to the door and then left to make his social call. Frodo had noticed that, even though many in the town thought he was a crazy old man, how often he was invited over for tea. Bilbo had a certain charm about him and a grin that one couldn't help but appreciate.

While his uncle was away, Frodo spent some time practicing his Elvish and then went outside for some fresh air.

* * *

Lower down the hill, one of the neighbors could be seen tending to his crops. It was the perfect time of year to be planting and there were plenty of things that could be grabbed off of a nearby plant and stuffed into a growing hobbit's famished mouth.

Frodo locked up Bag-end, put the key into his vest pocket, and then started down the hill. As he passed a large hedge, he was hardly surprised to find Daisy and May sitting behind it. Both girls beckoned him over and whispered to him to be silent.

"We finded somfing, Fwodo. Twy not to scare it away." May pointed to where both girls were staring.


	4. Chapter 4 - Bilbo's Surprise

The room had but one source of light - the candle that flickered next to an enormous pile of books. Books about the Shire's history and topography were stacked at the top of the pile. Near the bottom were books of fantasy and old wives tales. The individual who spent most of his spare time reading these books was, at the moment, occupied sketching a map of the property surrounding Bag-End.

Perched on top of the bridge of his nose were deep-rimmed glasses that reflected the cartography with which he busied himself. Despite his father's hopes to incorporate him into the social atmosphere of the town, the boy had always had reclusive tendencies. When asked about his friends, he would reply, "My books are my companions".

In simplicity, Lotho Sackville-Baggins was obsessed with his greedy desires to be the richest and most infamous hobbit ever.

* * *

May gently picked up the creature, it fluttered its minute wings but did not fly away from where it rested on the girl's thumb.

"What is it?" Frodo inquired.

"I don't know, but I think it might be a fairy" was Daisy's response. She took it from May's thumb and then placed it in her own palm and studied its little wings.

"I didn't know fairies lived in the Shire."

"Neither did I but perhaps it is lost. Or maybe it's a rare butterfly?"

"Oh! Maybe it was a fairy that was fwying Norf for duh winter, and then got losted from its famly, Daisy."

Daisy rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. "Yes, May, there is always that possibility. Though, I'm not even sure yet if it is a fairy. They are legendary creatures you know, we would have to verify it with one of Bilbo's old nature books. Could we Frodo?"

"I don't see why not…"

Bilbo had collected scores of nature books. Some of them he had written after his journey "to see the Dragon", while others were written far before that, possibly by some of the first inhabitants of the Shire. Several of them he had marked at certain spots with brightly colored ribbon and the margins of others were full of his commentaries that were written in his familiar handwriting.

Frodo found a book that was solely on insects, which he flipped through until he found the section on butterflies. Daisy, however, peered through a book on fanciful creatures and read the section about faeries and sprites while her sister held the creature next to the book's illustrations for comparison.

May gently placed the creature next to one of the illustrations labeled _faerie_. "I tink that it is one of those!", she concluded. "I think it is hungry, Daisy. What do fawies eat?".  
Daisy thought for awhile and then replied, "I would imagine that they eat fruit. I don't know for sure though, because the  
book doesn't say; it only has pictures".

* * *

Bilbo Baggins was very accustomed to attending parties. He gingerly poured himself another cup of tea and commented to his host about the weather. A pathetic conversation piece, but a great time filler.

"So I hear that its going to rain. The gardens could definitely use it."  
His host replied by grabbing a crumpet and half-heartedly nodding her head.

After several attempts of trying to restart an interesting conversation with his hostess, Bilbo gave up. His eyebrows wrinkled in frustration as he almost casually rose to his feet, bowed politely to those who watched and headed to the front door. As he grabbed his scarf and headed out the door, he nonchalantly said his goodbyes.

* * *

Walking past the neatly groomed hedges and flower gardens laden with blooms, Bilbo started to sing a song that he had made up a few years ago. "The road goes ever on and on..." _But Bilbo,_ he thought to himself, _where does the road go? and how long does it go before it turns into something that you could never have expected. Admit it, you are getting older and the chances that another adventure will come your way are ever so slim. How can you possibly be responsible to raise that boy? You can be such a big buffoon sometimes..._"...down from the door where it began..."

Bilbo could hear the children gleefully talking about something. _They must be in the study._ he thought. When he entered the study, he found May atop a pile of books that was nearly as tall as he was. He helped her down and asked what she was up to.  
In her normal chitter-chatter voice, May told "Mr. Bilbo" all about the "fairy".

"A fairy?" Bilbo exclaimed. "I have never heard of a fairy being in these parts. But, being one who has seen a dragon, I wouldn't be at all surprised. If I'm crazy enough to believe in dragons, i might as well believe in fairies." Bilbo chuckled and then was led by May to where the specimen sat under Daisy's close supervision.

Bilbo lifted the little creature from where it sat. Its delicate wings drooped downward as it lifted its little head to gaze at Bilbo.

The old hobbit beamed like a child when he looked closer at the creature which now sat in the palm of his hand.

"Well, children," Bilbo paused for a second, "what do you think that she is?"  
Almost instantly, May replied, "Why, it's a fairy of course!"

"I think that you are quite right, little May. I wonder why she did not tell you this herself; the fairy tongue is not that different from our own."

* * *

No matter how old he got, Bilbo always remained a child at heart, despite the weariness the ring held upon his mind and body. His adventures throughout the land beyond the Shire had only heightened his abilities as a tale-spinner. He smiled a youthful, magical smile.

To him and the children, the silent stick and grass doll within the jar was a true _faerie_ – truer then the elves and orcs that lived beyond the Farthings. "My goodness, look at these facial markings. This truly is a rare variety. Oh? What's that? She speaks!" Bilbo looked at little May – her face squealing with delight and belief. "She says her name is Silver Mist. She hails from over the mountains and across the rivers."

May couldn't wait to ask the fairy some questions. They spilled out in a wave of delight. "Does she like to eat cookies? Do fairies like pink? Does she want to be my friend?"

Bilbo cut her questions short with his response, "She says she is extremely fond of cookies and pastries, especially of the fruity and nutty variety. And yes, she does like pink but prefers the color blue. Oh, and she has a pony named Daffodil."

Their conversation quickly turned into a timely fairy tea party in the parlor. Still having the childhood ability to suspend disbelief, Frodo and Daisy marked the day as a delightful success…

* * *

_Astron, 7__th__ 1380 SR_

_~ Diary, I have been reminded of late of the joys of youth. They are treasures not to be taken in disregard. No matter how long one lives, be he elf or else, one should learn to retain a child's mindset towards beauty, joy, and bliss. I am sure that this is an essential to a life worth living. _

_On a side note, I suppose I am a halfway decent guardian. So far, I have successful kept the boyish member of the next generation alive. I will count that as one of my successes. He is starting to change from the wilting wraith that entered my house earlier into a youth that is beginning to re-conceptualize the ability to live. _

* * *

**A/N: And that is the end of where my story left off in 2007. Yesterday I added the last few paragraphs at the end of this section, after finding this story in my documents file. Perhaps I will write some more. This story is fun to write, even if I haven't touched for the last couple of years... **


	5. Chapter 5 - Tea Party

It must have been a Mersday, but young May had such a trouble keeping the days straight in her head. Perhaps it was a Trewsday? All she knew, it couldn't be a Sunday since her Poppa left for work as soon as the sun woke up. Her fairy doll was tucked lovingly beneath the covers beside her. Shiny. Sunny. Warm. The rays of early morning were flittering through the bedroom window. Daisy was still fast asleep on her left side, her foot nearly attacking May's face. Her older brothers, Hamson and Halfred, were already up, likely causing mischief.

She grabbed _Fairie_ and lowered her little feet over the side of the bed. First: Dart to the window. Faries need light to wake up. Second: Run back to the bed and hope that Daisy will wake up. It didn't work. Three: Consider waking up sister. Perhaps a dangerous idea. Four: Creep on tiptoes to the kitchen and see what Mommy is making.

"Goodmorning, My Little Sunshine!" Momma Gamgee had a bright, cheery face upon her face. The triangles around her eyes were pointing in the happy direction. In her hands were the prize, strawberry muffins. The table was set with three plates, for the men of the house had already eaten. "Almost time for breakfast, Sweetheart. Go tell your sister that it's time to eat, would you?"

Tiptoe – all the way back to the bedroom. Fly – through the air like a fairy and land on the bedspread. Roll – over towards sister. Poke. Poke. Poke. Yell in a high squeaky voice, "Daisy! IS TIME to gets up!" Jump around wildly as sister squirms in frustration and then fly back to the kitchen to sit down.

"She coming!" Squealed May delightedly. "I dink see still sleepies."

"Thank you, Sweetie." Momma put the muffin tray down on the table just as Daisy waddled into the kitchen. She yawned and then sat down next to her sister. May knew that this would be a good day, sister just needed to wake up first. Today would be a good day to play with the fishes in the stream. Faerie loved to swim – she told her last night. Imaginary friends, you can always depend on them to come up with great ideas. That reminded her, she should probably ask Pretzel and Star (her previous imaginary friends) if they would like to come and play too. One must be careful with friendships not to let others feel excluded.

Momma passed the muffins around. Two, with butter – it was a good day already. The girls smacked their lips. "So, what are your plans for the day, My Darlings?"

"Adventer!" This was May's new pet response. She had heard her older brother mention the word a few days before. "We's adventer"

Daisy wriggled her nose. "It's _adventure_, May."

* * *

The creek swirled around the rock bed where it lay. The breeze tousled the girls ringlets as they dipped their toes in the cool of the water. May, Faerie, and Pretzel (Star wasn't interested in meeting the new girl) were having a tea party on one of the dry stones. They had were drinking their water-tea out of flower cups and eating acorns for dessert. Splendid day.

Daisy, or "mom," as May and the imaginaries were currently referring to her, was busily making mud pie. The dirt and sand oozed through her fingers as she shaped the pie. It was chocolate, but not just because the dirt was brown. It was chocolate because she had decided that it was.

* * *

Lotho, who was out doing who-knows-what kinds of trouble, saw the girls sitting by the creek. Kids. They annoyed him. He was far more mature then they would ever recognize. He readjusted his glasses in affirmation. He had no time for play, especially child's play. With a confident jump in his step, he walked closer to where the girls were playing.

May and Daisy looked up with eyes full of disapproval. It was only slightly obvious that the imaginaries did not want him to join their tea party.

"You are so dull." Lotho scowled, inching closer to Daisy. "Why do you waste your time pretending you are someone you are not?"

Daisy shot Lotho a distasteful glare. "Go away, you big bulley!" Little May nodded in agreement.

Lotho rolled his eyes and then ground the tip of his boot in Pretzel's teacup. "Just wait until I own Bag End and you work for me!" With that, he turned foot and walked away with a wry twisted smile on his face.

The girls threw rocks in his general direction and then sat down again in a huff. Boys like him were always a bother. Lotho seemed to think that he was somehow superior to the rest of them. And, he thought was important to let the rest of the village kids know it. Daisy wished he would just leave them alone. She hated the way he pushed her older brother Hamson around. They were only a few months apart, but Lotho obviously considered himself to be the more important.

Well, she shouldn't let it bother her all day. Back to the pies! She had so many left to make. Pretzel was already starting on his fifth! And, little May was warming another pot of tea. She finished her pie and then put it in the rock oven beside her. It was time to put Lotho's stupidity out of her mind and return to the party.

Back at the house, Lotho pulled off his boots and placed them by the door. They were caked in dirt from the creek. His mother would probably disapprove of the dirt, especially the pieces that were trailing from the door to the boots.

Having heard the door shut, Mrs. Sackville-Baggins herself walked over to greet her son. "Oh, there you are! I almost thought you had forgote- Lotho! Is that mud on the floor! Go to the washroom and clean up this instant! I told you earlier that we were expecting company!" Lobelia's face quickly changed from one of greeting to one of shunning. "Otho! Can you get your lazy bottom in here and clean up this mess before the guests arrive?!"

A muffled "coming dear" came from the other room where Otho was reading. He had been reading all afternoon and was finally within a few chapters in the end. Whatever it was could surely wait a few more minutes.

_"Otho!"_ Lobelia shrieked again, this time while tapping her foot for emphasis. Otho slammed his book and scurried to help Lobelia.

Just as he finished scrubbing up the first footprint, the doorbell rang. _Confound those guests and their untimely arrivals!_ He moved his rag to the second. The doorbell rang three more times. Lotho now found himself in precarious predicament: should he finish cleaning the next three prints or answer the door? If he went with the first option, Dora would complain that he was a prude for making her wait outside so long; yet, if he went with the second option, Dora would complain that they were slothful hosts. Either way, Lobelia would surely be upset. Again, the doorbell rang.

Lobelia, having finished fluffing her curls and spraying herself with perfume emerged from the bedroom, "Goodness, Otho! Hurry and open the door already!"

The door swung open to the sour face of Dora. She wriggled her nose and then pushed her way through the door and into the sitting room. "If I knew any better," she began, "I would think that you were going to make me wait outside all day!" She then remembered her manners and plastered a fake-smile upon her lips. "Good afternoon, Lobelia. It is so nice to see you on such a fine day."

Lobelia smiled back and then walked over to the door where four more of her party guests began to knock. They all in turn said their greetings. With memorized formality and cordiality, they made their way to the table and were seated. Otho emerged just in time to avoid his mother's wrath. He took his place at the table and politely chuckled at the joke that Peony Burrows had just made.

"By the way, Lobelia, I have been meaning to ask you," Dora leaned into the table with her head cocked towards her host, "what do you think about the news that Mad Baggins is taking himself an heir?"

Lobelia snorted. As she did, she nearly fell backwards in her chair. Raising her nose importantly towards the ceiling she replied, "Bilbo is obviously out of his mind. As I have said before, he is in no position to be leading the family as it were. If he has any sense about him, he will realize _quickly_ that Otho is obviously the most qualified candidate to inherit Bag End." She sloshed teabag in her cup for dramatic effect.

The other ladies at the table murmured their agreement. Though none of them were particularly fond of Otho, they had to agree that it was better to let him inherit Bag End than an orphan. Charity was something they used sparingly.


	6. Chapter 6 - Prints

**A/N Tell me if I am getting to "Mary-Sue" with any of the characters. I am not trying to, but I do enjoy writing them. I have always been interested in minor characters. **

* * *

"So, on to other gossip," the speaker this time being Prisca, "have you heard that my eldest son, Ponto, and his wife are expecting?" Lotho grimaced as the annoying squeal of chick-chatter began. Babies – such gross little things. And, that was just what he needed, another annoying little relation to follow him around and to snoop into his business. As if there weren't enough young clogging up the Shire already.

The worst thing would be if the baby were a girl. His mother was a girl. His aunts were also girls. His father was a man, and that was decent enough, but girls were such self-absorbed gossips. And if they weren't gossipy, they were easily lost in lands of make believe, neglecting both hearth and home. At any rate, the baby should better be a boy.

* * *

Hobbit footprints all over the house. They were in the sitting room. They were in the bathroom. They were even in the study. It had been years since this house had had its share of hobbit footprints. Yet, here they were, there they were -several sets to be sure, small and gloppy. Of course he would have to reprimand them, children should learn responsibility, but the prints took Bilbo back into a wave of memory.

He had also grown up in this smial years and years before. Back then, his mother and father were more than just portraits on the walls of Bag End. They were the Lord and Lady of the House. They were good folk. They had only one child, but they loved him so.

Bilbo sighed. Parenting. Not even married and he had to learn proper parenting. Were they dwarven, he would simply yell at them in vain. However, these were children, some of which were little girls. Little girls and boys had feelings. Feelings could be hurt. Dwarven feelings were more cold and rocky, less given to tears and snuffles.

He picked up a towel and raised his voice in the general direction of the children's murmuring. "Frodo, come here."

Frodo peeked around the door-frame instantly aware of why his cousin had called for him. He slunk back into the room before reappearing like a little dog with its tale between in its legs. Then came a look of dastardly innocence. A quivering smile and hands behind the back, he walked over to where his cousin-uncle stood. "Yes, Uncle Bilbo?"

Bilbo tightened his resolve on the dripping towel. "And what are these that my eyes behold." He motioned towards the muddy prints.

His inquiry was met with uncomfortable silence and downcast eyes.

_Can't give in_. Bilbo reminded himself to be strong. "Frodo, a home is a sacred place of clean. When it is clean, we can all live together… cleanly." That didn't quite come out right. He started again, "You really must learn to clean up after yourself… To learn responsibility!" His tone became more serious.

That was when the tears started. At first the welled at the corner of the eyes, then they began to slide down one-by-one. "Yes, Sir." Sulky, that's what he was.

Bilbo hoped that he wasn't being too hard on the boy. After what happened to the parents and all. The last thing he wanted to do was to send the boy back into depression. "Here," he said, shaking the rag, "why don't you and your little friends clean up a bit… I'll start lunch…" Bilbo handed Frodo the rag, patted him on the shoulder, and then walked towards the kitchen.

The other little hobbits poked their heads out the door-frame to see what had happened. After seeing Frodo crouch and began to scrub, they wandered over to help. Daisy smiled, "Yay! Cleaning can be fun, too, don't you worry!" She grabbed the towel from Frodo and then began to wipe. "Sorry we made a mess, Frodo. We didn't mean to upset your uncle." Frodo nodded in understanding. Sensing that he wasn't interested in being cheered up she called to the others, "Well, I guess we should be getting back. We promised Iris that we would come and see how she was doing." The other children nodded in agreement and then said their goodbyes before heading to the front door.

Frodo sighed and scrubbed up a few more footprints. He walked over to the bathroom to ring the towel out and then wiped up a few more. On the last one, he slumped to the ground. He missed his parents. Bilbo was kind, but he didn't fill the hole that his parents left. No one could ever fill that hole, it was far too deep. He angrily rubbed at the last print, just as if he were angrily rubbing at the print that his parents' absence left on his heart.

* * *

_Astron, 11__th__ 1380 SR_

_~ I don't think I am getting the hang of this whole parenting thing. Perhaps it's because I am a bachelor? I don't know how to be both mother and father. In fact, I am having a hard enough time simply being like a father. _

_Lobelia's gang has been pounding at the door all week. They are as noisy as hens! They come over to spy, I'm sure of it. As if my gold isn't enough to interest them, now my lack of skills concerning guardianship have become one of their pet-interests – obsessions is more like it. They bring pies, but it's mostly an excuse to get into the house and snoop about. I am so tired of their insistent nagging and poking their noses in my business. _

* * *

On Astron the 16th, May, Faerie, and Pretzel were playing in the yard while Daddy planted seeds. Star was still being stubborn. Try as she might, she couldn't breach the gap of friendship between Faerie and Star. According to Star, Faerie was extremely self-absorbed. According to Star, Faerie thought that she was more special to May because she was a mythical creature embodied in a doll. According to Star, Faerie thought that being a doll also made her less like an imaginary and more like an actual friend. Star borderline hated Faerie. Pretzel tried his best to stay out of it.

May ran over to where Daddy was digging in the dirt. "My Star says she don like Faerie." She looked troubled. Mr. Gamgee, as practical as he was, couldn't bring himself to squelch the imagination of his baby girl. Some day she would have to grow up, true, but she was only four, practicality could always wait. "Well, May, maybe this is something you should talk to your Ma about. She is a girl, after all. She would probably best know how to deal with the situation." He gave his little girl a hug and then dropped a seed into the hole.

Ma was inside rocking the baby. "Mom, Star and Faerie are fighting again."

Mrs. Gamgee chuckled and then drew her little girl in closer to her. "Well, sometimes relationships take time. They might not like each other now, but that doesn't mean that it won't change later. Why don't you invite them both to tea and ask them to play together? I am sure they will agree to for you."

May ran out of the house to start a tea party.

* * *

On Astron the 16th, Frodo wished he had someone like Mrs. Gamgee to talk to. He sat at his desk twiddling his pencil over a mess of meaningless sketches. He hadn't seen the other little hobbits since they last visited. He scratched at the paper in a flurry of emotion. He had taken to having his meals in his room again. He could hear Bilbo humming in the hall. Frodo didn't feel like humming, or being in the hall. He wanted to go back to his parents house, but he knew that, no matter how hard he looked he wouldn't find them there. They were gone, he needed to forget about the pain he felt. He needed to move on. His shoulders began to shake and he dropped his pencil. Drawing his arms closer to himself, he curled his into a ball on his seat. He couldn't stop the tears – mother wasn't there to pick him up and hold him close to herself. Father wasn't there to say it would all be okay. They were gone.

Bilbo's humming stopped as he heard little sobs coming from Frodo's room. He had felt that way when his parents had died, but he had been much older than Frodo. Yes, it still hurt, heavens it hurt, but he was able to comfort himself through busying himself with work and writing. He took a step towards the door and then stopped.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Book

Bilbo's humming stopped as he heard little sobs coming from Frodo's room. He had felt that way when his parents had died, but he had been much older than Frodo. Yes, it still hurt, heavens it hurt, but he was able to comfort himself through busying himself with work and writing. He took a step towards the door and then stopped.

_Rat-a-tat-tat_ went Bilbo's hand upon the door. "Say, Frodo my lad, are you in there?" No reply. Bilbo sighed and then tried the door, swinging it open softly. Bilbo sighed again. Cautiously he crept into the dimly lit room to where balled-up Frodo sat on the chair. He placed his hand upon the boys head and gently stroked his hair. Frodo stiffened a little at the touch and then began to sob deeper. "Frodo," Bilbo whispered, "I'm not very good at this whole comfort thing, am I? But, I want you to know, that I have enjoyed every day that you have been here. Perhaps the Old Smial missed having a kid around, huh?" Bilbo smiled a bit and patted the child on the head.

Wiping his eyes, Frodo nodded his head somewhat. The tears were streaming down his face, under his nose, and off his chin. He pulled his right hand into his sleeve and wiped his nose. "Why… why did they have to… you know…" Tears splashed onto the desk.

Bilbo stayed his hand and sighed again. Difficult question, very difficult, one that he had asked himself numerous times regarding his own parents. "You know, my boy," he began, "I don't know how to answer that question… because I still haven't found the answer myself. My own parents passed on as well. I loved them a lot, and it hurt ever so much when they were gone. Sometimes, it still hurts whenever I am reminded of them. Our folks were good hobbits, my lad. Very good hobbits, and I suppose that makes it hurt even the more." Frodo nodded in agreement. "Hmmm, I'll be right back."

Bilbo hurried out of the room and then returned a few minutes later carrying a platter of milk and cookies and a book. "Here, join me on the floor, Laddy."

Frodo sighed and then clambered from the chair to the floor. He wiped some of the tears from his face and then sat cross-legged next to Bilbo and the platter. He was still wheezing a bit from crying but for the most part the tears seemed to be stopping for a time.

Bilbo carefully moved the book to the center and smoothed his hand over the front cover. In beautiful script, "Baggins" was written in large letters across the front. It was an old book, which had faded gracefully over the years. Frodo's interested was piqued; he casually inched closer to Bilbo. Bilbo responded by wrapping his arm around the boy's side and pulling him closer. "Come on, you little rascal!" Bilbo chuckled.

"Shall we?" Bilbo asked in a voice of mystery. Frodo nodded his head hesitantly. Bilbo motioned to the corner of the book and together the flipped it open. "Now, you may know, Frodo, we come from a very respectable family. In fact, you could say we come from a very _good_ family. On the front cover was an inscription:

_To our Darling Berylla on your wedding day:_

_Not every mother and father are as privileged as we,_

_To have a daughter sweet as thee._

_And even rarer as it be,_

_To start a Baggins family tree._

_We love you, Berylla. You are blessed to have found such a wonderful husband. _

_We are sure that he will take good care of you. You are the start of a great legacy._

_In this book, may you both chronicle the beginnings of a family tree to be cherished and proud of. _

_With Love,_

_Da, Ma, Bosco, Basso, and Briffo Boffin_

"Well, Frodo," Bilbo smiled, "I think they were right. We do have a great legacy behind us. Your Da and Ma are a part of that legacy, you know?" Frodo nodded his head and brought himself to smile slightly. Together, they turned the pages whereupon their family history was written and illustrated. On the last page was… "Ah look! Our family tree! And what's this? F – R – O –D – O. Why… why… that must be you, my boy!" Indeed it was. And Bilbo and the rest of the family were on the tree as well. It was a bit worn, but all of the names were clearly legible. The handwriting had changed in some places, evidence of the book being passed down from generation to generation.

Frodo smiled. "This… is a treasure."

"Yes, my boy. In all my journeys, I haven't found any dragon's treasure to be more beautiful than this book."

Frodo gently traced the names of his parents. Yes, this was much more beautiful than any dragon's gold. He smiled, grabbing another cookie. "Thanks for showing me this, Uncle Bilbo." He awkwardly reached over and hugged Bilbo. "I'm glad to be a Baggins like you."

* * *

**A/N: This one is shorter because I really couldn't find anything I wanted to add to it.**


	8. Chapter 8 - Scheaming Sackvilles

Other than the soft honey glow of flickering candles, the hole had turned to the shadowy dark of night. Outside the windows, the rain was streaming down from the skies above. Bilbo grinned, his darling flowers and shrubs were surely praising the heavens above for the nourishing rain. His mother had loved the outdoors; she had insisted that the hole have gardens splendid enough to rival any of the relatives'. Arguably, she had succeeded.

Bilbo thought back to rainy nights he had spent with dwarves. Some days, he had been so homesick; so thoroughly ready to run all the way back to the safety of his smial. Frodo had come at a time when he was getting restless from being cooped up in the safety of his lonely little hole. Having the child nearby had brought back some of the adventure that had been sorely missing from his life.

Though some of the relations would disapprove, notably Lobelia, he enjoyed listening to Frodo and the little Gamgee girls tell about their imagnitive adventures. Naturally, the lad would eventually need to start socializing with boys, but for now Bilbo appreciated the kindness of the farmer's family.

_Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. _The sound of rain danced in the air. Bilbo walked over to the kitchen window. Just because he had a child now, did not mean he was becoming completely domesticated beyond the possibilities of another adventure. He let his eyes follow the garden path to the road. Perhaps someday he could take the lad out and show him more of the wonderful, wide world.

The rain was a less welcome site down the hill. Lobelia groaned at the sound of th e rain running through the gutter. She glanced around the smial and allowed her eyes to park on her husband. When they had first gotten married, she had been happy to be a Sackville-Baggins. Over the years however, she started to see past the awe of being married into such a well-off family. By hereditary conventionalism, her son should have been enjoying the freedom of being Bilbo's heir. However, selfish, insane man that he was, he had plucked a weed out of Tookland to be his successor instead. The way tongues wagged throughout the farthings it was becoming clear that the Baggins family name was becoming even more associated with insobriety. At least her side of the family had the decency to understand social rights and graces. And despite all of the absurdities, it seemed as if her husband could care less about his family politics. Even now, he sat pleasantly absorbed in the morning news. Lobelia rolled her eyes and then trudged over to her husband to voice her opinion, "Otho! Do you even care about your son's best interests? You rarely even take the time of day to father the poor lad. Its miraculous that he hasn't grown into an oaf like yourself at this rate."

"Yes, Lobelia." Otho turned the page to the classified section and began to peruse the listings. "If you are that worried about the lad, why don't you just send him over to spend extra quality time with that uncle of his?"

Lobelia threw her hands up in the air to illustrate her frustration and then trudged down the hall towards her son's bedroom, picking up the dirty laundry along the way.

Lotho Sackville-Baggins was busy organizing his insect collection. Earlier, he had captured a bee and a butterfly. Each was now stretched out upon starchy, white paper with a pin through it's thorax. Lotho carefully wrote a description of each insect detailing its species type and the location where he discovered it. He was proud of his work, and he had every right to be. He was much more accomplished than his peers, who busied their lives with frivolous activities and socialisms. He had just finished his description as his mother entered the room with hands on her hips and lips drawn into a purse.

Lobelia would have yelled at her son to clean up his room, were it not for the fact that her son was arguably the most organized hobbit in all of the Shire. Aside from his cluttered work desk, each shelf and hook in the room was perfectly in order. It was almost to clean to be appropriate for a young hobbit. Even the cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling seemed to exist with complete purpose and cleanliness.

"Lotho, you know that I care for you more than you can ever know. As a result, I cannot let you lose your inheritance to that_ little country twerp that Bilbo masquerades as an heir." Lotho nodded his head as his mother continued, "Bilbo has to understand that everything that he could ever want in a successor he already has in you." In her thoughts she added, "At least Bag-End will be clean and orderly."_

It was early morning as the posthobbit's pony plotted up the path towards Bag-End. This was the first house on the rout, as it was farthest from the post office. The mailbox opened with a squeak and eleven letters squeezed in before it closed again.

Bilbo's ears perked at the sound of the morning mail. Opening the mailbox was like a lottery – it could either be filled with letters worth reading or with bills or slothery letters from his relatives asking for money. Either way, it was an integral part of his morning routine. One – two – three: Those ones were bills no doubt. Four – five – six: Some letters from his younger cousins probably regarding birthday parties and celebrations. Seven – eight – nine: Advertisements. Ten – A letter from cousin Dora probably regarding Frodo. And eleven: Unmistakably from Lobelia, might as well have been a bill.

The first foot through the door saw Frodo excitedly circling Bilbo like a hungry puppy. "Don't worry, Frodo my lad, I am sure that this one is for you." He said, holding up the letter from Dora. He tossed the letters on the entry table and then stretched up towards the ceiling. Which one to open first? Most of them surely would only be suited for making paper dragons out of.

Sure enough most of them were bills or money laundering. He put those in a pile to deal with later. The one from Dora was pleasant enough, as Frodo thoroughly enjoyed hearing from his Auntie. The one from Lobelia had been strategically saved for last. "Grab your sword, my boy, there may be trolls inside." The corner of the envelope inched open as Bilbo pulled his finger across the top. He was right to be afraid, as luck would have it: Lobelia was inviting Lotho for a play-date... at Bag-End...


	9. Chapter 9 - Sackvilles at Bag End

A/N: Thank you for the guest comment, who-ever-left-it. It is greatly appreciated! I love hearing from readers! :D As always, thoughts, comments, and constructive criticisms are always appreciated. :) I really enjoyed writing this chapter during my break today. So, here it is:

* * *

Mersday morning arrived sooner than either Baggins expected. Lotho was expected for elevensies. No matter how hard Bilbo tried to back out of the invitation, he knew that he had to oblige. He had successfully avoided accepting anyone over to the smial in a good long while, a fact of which Lobelia was most definitely aware. Thankfully, Farmer Gamgee's wife had offered to come over and spruce things up a bit before Lobelia's stalkerish gaze found its way inside Bag End. Confound her and her trollish schemes! It was likely that she was sending her son as a tool to snoop around the hole under the guise of family gathering. Bilbo had only agreed because he thought it important that Frodo become more acquainted with the family in Hobbiton, especially if he were to become any sort of Head of the Family some day.

* * *

Frodo leaned over the fence talking to Daisy who stood on the other side. Her brother Halfred was there as well. "Mr. Frodo, I warn you to stay far clear of that Lotho chap. I seen him bothering my sister here and some of the other kids. He is no good, I tell you." Halfred eyed his sister protectively and then gave Frodo a glare that said he probably didn't trust any guy who bothered his sister, whether they were friendly or not.

Frodo nodded in understanding. "Yes, I reckon he's no good, but he is family so I guess I should try giving him the time of day. Don't worry, Hal, I wouldn't let him near your sisters either." Daisy flushed a red colour that she knew was probably wasted on so pre-pubescent a hobbit.

"You should probably stay near Bilbo at all times. Don't play any hiding games. You wouldn't want Lotho having to come find you. Who knows what he might do to you if he found you alone." Frodo gulped. He had heard the rumors that his cousin could be quite the bully, and he wasn't in a mind to find out if they were true or not.

"Do you really think... he would hurt me Hal?"

Halfred gave a half-shrug. "Better not go and find out, Master Frodo."

* * *

Appearances are important, as Lobelia knew. Thus, both she and her son were dressed impressively. Her dress swished back and forth in a regal way as she walked, the lace looking rather elegant, she noticed. Her husband had told her that she looked rather dashing; so, she walked proudly toward the gate with Lotho trailing behind like a whipped dog. Lotho was wearing a honey-peach colored vest with shining brass buttons. His curls had been whetted and smoothed into presentable looking ringlets that where very much looking controlled.

Bilbo answered the door rather sheepishly and letting them both into the parlor. Lobelia once again sat herself down comfortably in Bilbo's favorite chair. Lotho sat in another chair across the room while Bilbo protectively stood awkwardly in the middle of the entry way leading to the kitchen. Frodo, on the other hand, was peering out from behind one of the other sitting chairs. A look of paranoia clearly marked upon his face.

Lobelia cleared her throat, "It was very – _cordial," The word obviously tasting like chalk as it proceeded from her mouth, "_of you to think of you to invite us over today. From what I understand, no one over the age of 12 has been invited over in quite some time. Quite a shame really, this poor old house isn't be used like it could be..." Her voice trailed off as she looked around the room.

"Trust me, Lobelia, it wasn't my idea. I believe it wa-"

"Shouldn't a proper host be seeing to the refreshments, Bilbo? I am sure that one of the Gamgees you employ could see to the tea and cakes?"

Frodo shot an angry glare in her direction, knowing that she couldn't possibly be complementing his neighbors in a tone like that. He then nervously glanced over at his elder something-cousin Lotho. He knew that he really should figure out their relationship, however, the trees in Bilbo's book still confused him a bit.

Bilbo gave a slight huff and then went to fetch the platter of refreshments. Like a dear in the chase, Frodo darted in to the kitchen after him.

Lobelia rolled her eyes in disgust. "I told you he was a strange child, Lotho."

In the kitchen, Bilbo gently reminded Frodo not to hide behind the furniture and to try and talk to the guests, regardless of how uninvited they might be. Frodo sighed and then half-heartedly wandered back into the sitting room to grab a chair. Bilbo returned with the elevensies refreshments.

Lobelia smiled at the shiny platter on which the food and tea arrived. She was a hobbit with a special appreciation for finery. She tipped the polished teacup to her lips and breathed in the steam with a glimmer of longing.

As he sipped his tea, Lotho would lift his eyes up periodically to look at Frodo with a look of superiority. In response, Frodo would slouch deeper into his chair and the muffin that he was nibbling on. The younger boys eyes were wide and blue, his hands trembling slightly as he held the muffin on behalf of the conversation with Halfred earlier that day.

"Now, Bilbo, as you may know, Lotho shares your fascination with learning. In fact, just this past month he started volunteering some at the mathom house. He helps categorize the collection."

"Oh, is that so? The mathom house truly is a fascinating place..."

Lotho smirked at Frodo and then added, "Yes, I noticed that you have added to the collection over the years, Uncle. The head librarian has been fascinated by some of the stories you have submitted. Though, I have noticed through perusing your articles that you have more an interest in fantasy than reality." Bilbo's brows furrowed at the comment.

"Well, Lobelia, why don't we let the lads out to enjoy themselves. I am sure they could use some fresh air."

Lobelia motioned them out the door with her nose. Both boys seemed to sigh as they got up to go outside. Frodo looked a little pale as he returned his teacup to the saucer.

"Now, Bilbo," Lobelia continued, "I hear that you plan on making that child your heir? As you know, there are several other candidates for such a position – My darling Lotho for instance."

"Lobelia Sackville, you know clearly that I have already made up my mind. I see through your little game. You are only hear in hopes of convincing me otherwise." Bilbo responded to her in a huff, spitting muffin chunks all over his vest. The casual pleasantry of elevensies soon turned into a turse arguing about inheritance and heir-ship.

* * *

Meanwhile, the lads were awkwardly lingering outside beneath the party tree. Lotho was holding a leaf with a caterpillar, which he was thoroughly examining. He already had a caterpillar in his collection, but he liked to look at it none-the-less. Frodo on the other hand, was peering out from the other side of the tree.

"I don't like people who get in my way."

Frodo gulped, "I guess I wouldn't either. Is that little caterpillar in your way?"

"Not at the moment – but if it were, it wouldn't be for long." Lotho placed the leaf, to which the caterpillar still clung, into his pocket.

"So, I hear you like books... I – I like them, too... Books, that is." Frodo shrinked back behind the tree.

"I find that books are much more interesting than people. They are far more useful in most occasions, in my opinion. They know far more than the average hobbit." Lotho's voice was stealy and cold as he responded to Frodo's comment.

"Halfred says-"

"You see, that is precisely your problem. You waste your time on useless people. You do realize that by blood you have a higher standing in society than they, don't you?"

Frodo was slightly puzzled by Lotho's prodding. He wanted to go back inside the safety of Bag End.

Lotho turned his body towards the tree and crept closer to where Frodo hid on the other side. "Just remember, there are people in this world who are far darker than yourself." With that, Lotho turned away and walked back down the trail Bag End.

Frodo shrunk down the side of the tree into a little ball. Halfred was right, Lotho shouldn't be allowed anywhere near the Gamgee girls.


	10. Chapter 10 - Excerpts of Rain

_Astrid, 20th 1380 S.R._

_My meeting with the Sackvilles is continually reminding me that Frodo is a delightful child with so much potential. The thought of ever having one of the Sackvilles reside in Bag End gives me repulsive shudders that start in my head and go clear down to my toes. Lotho and his mother are handfuls, that's for sure. _

It was Highday, but a rainy one at that. So rainy, in fact, that the puddles in the garden were more pronounced than usual. The grass was a deep color of health and the tulips and crocuses were dancing in the drizzle. May loved Highdays; they were so carefree and danciful. Faerie had explained to her that faeries were especially fond of Highdays as well. And, to make everything better, Da and her brothers got to stay home all day! Today, they were all together in the family room. Da smelled like pipe and Ma pies. And the baby was cooing in mama's arms.

Hamson and Halfred were kneck to kneck in a dueling arm-wrestle. May guessed they had been at it for at least fourty-eight minutes, if her numbers were right. She was rooting for Hal, his arm struggling to beat his elder. In the end, Hamson won with a whoop of glee and a pat on the back from Daisy.

"Sorry, Hal, you'll just have learn that I will beat you every time."

"Har, that's what ya think. Wait till I'm bigger and stronger – then I will challenge ya again. Just wait. Besides, you should take a break. Your neck must be getting tired from holdin' that their head of yours!" Halfred shoved off and went to sit down next to his dad.

"So, Da, have you heard much about Frodo lately?" Asked Daisy as she leaned against her father's sitting chair.

"Not much, Darlin', I reckon he's continuing much same as usual."

Halfred gave his sister a punch in the shoulder. "Why would a girl like you wanna know that? Are you sweet on him?"

Daisy swatted at him. "Shut up, Halfred."

"As long you ain't ever gonna like boys like Lotho. If I ever saw you kissin' one like him, I'd rope you to a tree and leave you there." Her brothers laughed at her as she wrinkled her face in annoyance and embarrassment.

"I yikes, Fwodo." May chimed in. "I think I wants to marry him some day." Mr. Gamgee chuckled at his children. "Will talk about that later, May, when you are long out of your tweens."

At the Sackvilles, the rain was ever unwelcome, especially with the newly discovered leak in the roof. For the last hour, Lobelia had been hurriedly nagging Otho to fix the predicament. His answer consisted of putting a bucket on a table beneath the drip and emptying it whenever it got dangerously close to brimming over.

"Why don't you just go up their and fix it!" Lobelia nervously watched the water sloshing in the bucket while Otho stood shakily on the table holding the bucket up to the hole.

"Lobelia! It's too wet to go out there right now. This will just have to do." Disagreeing with his wife was a dangerous predicament to be in, Otho understood this well; however, he was not about to go up on that roof in weather like this. He plopped the bucket on the floor and grabbed an emptier one. This he placed on top of one of the other buckets that had been over-turned on top of the table. He then jumped down from the table, proceeding to empty the sloshing, full bucket.

Lobelia steadied her precious table, which was still rocking slightly from Otho's clumsy movements. It had been crafted by her great-gaffer as a wedding present to her gammer. The last thing she wanted was to see it in pieces.

Lotho entered the room with his hands in his pockets. Why his parents didn't just fix the roof when they noticed structural issues during yule was beyond him. How pathetic his parents looked clambering about the silly old table. He straightened his back into a stretch, "How poetic, rain in the living quarters. We could probably write a few lines about this:

There is rain on my roof,

and in my living room.

As parents stand on wretched ol' tables,

with buckets so aloof.

The dreary droplets loom,

I will forever be running from social labels.

It's not my best work; but, I doubt I have to worry about literary criticism until I am least in my mid-tweens." He shrugged and then continued to the kitchen.

"Uncle Bilbo, did it rain a lot when you were on your adventures?" Frodo was rocking back and forth next to the counter as Bilbo baked.

"My goodness, yes!" Exclamed a floury Bilbo in response. "There is rain in this world unlike any the Shire has ever seen."

"What do trolls think about rain?"

"Well, I don't think they quite enjoy it. Did I tell you about the time that I got captured by trolls? They are such great, large creatures, my boy!" Bilbo kneeded the flour in his hands into a misshapen ball. This he prodded into the likeness of a troll. When he was satisfied, he pinched off a piece of its head and molded it into a much smaller figure. "And that is me. See how big they are in comparison?"

Frodo giggled in response, taking his own ball of flour out of the bowel. He began shaping it into a figure to rival the size of Bilbo's 'troll' and then placed it down next to the other figures. "Hey, you, there! Keep yer dirty 'ands offa that 'obbit or I'll poun' ya in the face!" He wiggled its little arm as he spoke.

"Who do you think you are?" Asked Bilbo's troll in response, hopping towards the newcomer. "I will eat that ther' 'obbit!" And with that, Bilbo's ball of flour extended into a pancake and gobbled up the other figures. Both hobbits laughed. "Ah, Frodo," Bilbo sighed, "I would never let a troll gobble you up. You are far too special, my lad." He ruffled Frodo's curls as he said this.

"I wouldn't let any troll gobble you up either!" Said Frodo as he wrapped his floury arms around his uncle in a sweet embrace. "I hope that I can be a great hobbit like you someday, Uncle Bilbo."

"I'm sure you will, my lad. I'm sure you will."


	11. Chapter 11: A Day for Daisy

The rest of Astrid was rainy as well. The flowers and shrubs around Bag End were in full bloom as they ushered in the final month before summer. Next to the creek, butterflies were dipping in and out of the flowers, while a rabbit chewed contentedly on the grass.

"Everybody listen!" Shouted Daisy at the top of her lungs. The other hobbit children looked up at her from the grass where they lounged. "Since it is my birthday, you should all try listening to me now." A few of the hobbits nodded their understanding.

Her mother glanced at her calmly, "Sweetie, be nice about it." Mrs. Gamgee was rocking baby Sam back and forth. "Alrighty, come to the blanket, little ones." She motioned for them to come and sit down on the faded green and lavender quilt that was spread out on the grass.

Iris, who still had a bit of a limp sat herself squarely in front of the beautiful blueberry seedcake Across the top was a frosty inscription of Daisy's name. Mr. Bilbo had been kind enough to write the letters for the Gamgee family. Normally, they wouldn't have cared, but Daisy had insisted that this year she wanted a cake with her name on it. "Mmmm... This smells beautiful, Mrs. Gamgee!"

"Mr. Bilbo says that's what my name looks like!" Said Daisy through a delighted smile.

Hamfast, Halfred, Frodo, and other boys had piled onto one side of the quilt, while the girls sat as delicately as they could on the other. May, on the other hand, was sprawled out across her daddy's lap. Daisy was still standing importantly on the blanket. Noticing that everyone was sitting, she quickly sat down herself.

Mr. Gamgee lifted little May into a sitting position and then began to speak, "Well, my little darlin' today is your birthday. I remember when you were the same size as little May. Now you are a big, beautiful nine-year-old. Don't grow up too quickly, Sweetie! Alright, I reckon you should blow out the candles so we can enjoy that beautiful here cake your Ma made."

Daisy made her wish and then leaned over the cake. With a flutter, the candlesticks began to simmer as the tiny flames went out. "I wished that my family will always be as good as you are now." Pronounced Daisy matter-of-factly.

"You have a great family, Daisy! You are so lucky; they are some of the goodest people I know." Frodo shyly acknowledged.

"Them's mighty fine words, Mr. Frodo. You are a pretty good little lad yourself!" Mr. Gamgee smiled at the lad as he grabbed the knife to cut the cake.

When everyone had been served, Daisy began to pass out her presents. Each little present had been made by her, using what she could find around the house and outside. They were wrapped in the finest maple leaves she could find and ribboned in place with grass and flowers.

Passing a gift to her little sister, she explained, "These are teacups for Pretzel, Fearie, and Star. And the bigger one is for you." The teacups were little nut cups that she had pained with flowery designs. May accepted them with appreciation and a giggle.

For Hamson and Halfred she had found the best sword-sticks she could and etched their names across the sides. Her mom and dad both received pretty painted portraits. She had made mixed the paints herself from pressing flowers and grasses she had around the stream.

To Frodo and the other children, she gave cookies that she had baked herself and drizzled with a berry jelly. The hobbits nibbled them gleefully and all said their 'thank yous'.

Standing again, Daisy proclaimed that it was time for a rousing game of tag. They other hobbits jumped up from their spots in a flash. Poor little Iris forgot to say "not it" and had to hobble along after them, desperately trying to tag the nearest hobbit.

After a few minutes, little Frodo ran back to the blanket where Ma and Da Gamgee were relaxing in the sun. Mrs. Gamgee was trying to coo the groggy baby back to sleep. Frodo gently knelt down next to her and looked at the baby. "I bet the baby wishes he could play tag too."

Mrs. Gamgee smiled, "Oh, he will be soon enough! Baby's grow up so fast!" She petted little Sam's head lovingly.

Frodo carefully touched the baby's head as well. "He is so soft!"

"Here, you hold him while I clean up these dishes, lad." She passed the baby to the astonished Frodo and helped him to support the baby's head with his arm. "There you go; you got it."

As the Gamgee's tidied up, Frodo stared wide-eyed at the little baby in his arms. He brushed his hand across the baby's pale curls and forehead. So soft and warm. He shuddered at the thought of what would happen if he dropped him. "You are so lucky," he whispered to the sleeping baby, "to have a family like them. You better grow up to be just as brave as your older brothers and as loving as your sisters, you hear?" The baby yawned in response, reaching a arm up to Frodo's nose. "Hey! Watcha doin' that for? Silly baby. You are a cute little thing, aren't you? No wonder, your momma holds you so much!" He thought about how his own momma had cradled him close in her embraces. He missed those moments. He pulled the baby tighter to his body, afraid to let it fall out of his arms - like his parents had only months prior. "I will protect you, little baby. I won't let people like Lotho ever hurt your family – I promise."


End file.
